Repercussions
by DeniseV
Summary: There are bound to be repercussions from missions like The Gurnius Affair. Napoleon and Illya experience some of that in this post-episode snippet.


Napoleon Solo opened his eyes to find his boss, Alexander Waverly, staring at him, and the head man at U.N.C.L.E. did not look happy. The agent, even if his life depended on it, wouldn't have been able to say how long his eyes had been closed, though the look on Waverly's face gave him a pretty good idea that it was longer than your average blink. Solo remembered handing Terry the camera and their need to expose the film that the female shutterbug had just used to snap Waverly's photo. He frankly didn't remember much after that, though the fact that he was seated, facing the exit, and Terry Cook was now no longer in their presence said an awful lot about lost time.

"Mr. Kuryakin, would you please drive Mr. Solo home?"

"Yes, sir."

"Home?" Napoleon meant to ask, though he sensed that he hadn't actually verbalized the thought. So tired. He looked at his watch. Five minutes. Five minutes had gone by…long enough for Waverly's secretary Lisa to escort Terry out of U.N.C.L.E. headquarters and see her off to the airport. Five minutes. No wonder his boss was looking at him like that. And by that Napoleon meant, well, not good.

"Yes, Napoleon," Illya Kuryakin said. Napoleon looked to his left to find his partner seeming every bit as worried as his boss. Also, it was now official: it seemed his partner was now reading his thoughts as well as predicting his actions. "You had a…rough day yesterday, and a long flight home."

"Indeed," Waverly added. "And medical had suggested…"

"Suggested," Solo interjected, raising his index finger for emphasis, finally gaining some footing in this conversation.

"Suggested," Waverly continued, undaunted by the interruption by his top agent, "a good day or two recuperation time. I suggest you take it."

"Sir," Solo returned, but Waverly was having none of it.

"Mr. Kuryakin, please take the day off as well. From your report, it sounds like you could use some time to wind down from the difficulties that this affair presented."

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, sir?" Solo asked, astounded that his partner would agree to leave work before the day had even gotten started.

"Let's go," Illya ordered, gently guiding the senior agent up with a light touch to his elbow.

The sarcastic retort of 'Yes, sir?' made it occur to Napoleon Solo that it might be best if he did leave. He knew it was important before his tired mind let something out of his mouth that he would truly regret. But he also knew that his partner and friend was simply out to protect him, though at times during his torture at the hands of 'Colonel Nexor' he wondered if Illya did have his best interests at heart, considering the passion Kuryakin exuded in playing the part.

The electric shock had been long and painful, the torture made so much worse by the knowledge that his friend was really the one inflicting the pain on Napoleon. Solo's plea of 'I can't stand much more' hadn't seemed to phase Kuryakin. Indeed, Illya's snide and completely in character retort, 'You are not as young as you used to be' could have easily been mistaken as the real thing by an agent who did not know Illya Kuryakin the way Napoleon Solo did. Solo knew the comment for what it was: a reminder from his partner for Napoleon to keep playing _his_ part, at least for a little while longer.

"Napoleon." The softly spoken entreaty of his name brought Solo back to the present. They were in Del Floria's fitting room. "Are you all right?" Illya asked worriedly.

Napoleon was starting to feel a little worried himself. "I'm fine. Let's get out of here." Kuryakin shadowed Solo to the top enforcement agent's car. Napoleon handed Illya his keys; there was no need to verbalize what was so obvious to both of them.

'If I kill him my way, he will stay dead much, much longer.' Napoleon vaguely recalled the chilling words coming to him in his tortured fog, words spoken, unbelievably it seemed, in his partner's voice. Kuryakin seemed to revel in his role – then. Solo turned to look at his friend. It was so clear to Napoleon now that Illya was dealing with the events of the Gurnius affair only slightly better than he himself was. Solo was tired beyond exhaustion, so tired that he hurt, no doubt the aftereffects of the electro-shock treatments, but even in his less than ideal current state he could see that his friend was hurting, too, just in a far different way. But Napoleon Solo knew all about non-physical pain, too.

"Are you all right?" Napoleon asked as they approached his building. Illya snorted and shook his head. "What?" Solo asked. The blond agent pulled the car into Solo's parking space and didn't answer the question. "Ignoring me, that's nice," Solo said sarcastically. He reached for the passenger-side door handle.

"I am not ignoring you," Illya said as he grabbed Napoleon's arm to stop him from leaving the car just yet. "Can we go inside before we get into this?" Kuryakin asked , far more than a hint of strain in his voice. The slam of the car door acted as the exclamation point to the shouting that Illya had so far successfully managed to repress.

"Get into this? That's an interesting way of putting it," Solo responded as he followed his fleeing partner quickly though fadingly towards the garage elevator.

"I am not surprised that you would take what I said in the wrong way. You are exhausted, even if you do not want to admit that you are. You are not thinking clearly."

"I don't think I need you to tell me what I'm thinking, Illya. I think a better question might be what were _you_ thinking?"

Kuryakin's stride halted slightly, the comment cutting like a knife, though he knew he needed to stay near his partner, now keeping a slower pace. The likelihood of a crash seemed ever more imminent. And there was little else Illya wanted than to continue the direction of this conversation. He unlocked the door and let them into Solo's apartment.

"Ignoring me again, are we? Very stealthy of you."

"You should go to bed," Illya suggested as he walked to the kitchen. "I will warm you up some milk." Kuryakin pulled out a pan and grabbed the milk from the refrigerator. It was a perk of their standing with the organization that U.N.C.L.E. would stock their kitchens upon their return from a mission. They would both prefer a stiff drink to the warm milk, no doubt, but Illya didn't think that was what Napoleon really needed. And he knew it would do neither of them any good if he himself started drinking. Though tight lipped around others once he would did imbibe, there was something about Napoleon's presence that brought out the truth, but Illya was nowhere near prepared to face the truth. Not if he could help it. He stopped what he was doing when he realized that no smart comeback had been hurled his way. Illya turned to find his friend massaging his eyes and forehead with a shaky hand. Kuryakin also noted a slight listing from side to side, as clear a sign as any yet that Solo was on his last legs. Illya walked over to his partner.

"Napoleon," he started. Solo looked up, startled and suddenly very dizzy from that very slight movement. The senior agent pitched forward, heading for the hardwood floor, an expensive Oriental rug the only cushion he would have had if Illya hadn't caught him and supported him as they walked together to the sofa.

"I'm okay," Solo insisted as he sat with his eyes closed, waiting out the vertigo.

"No you are not. You need rest. You were…subjected…I subjected you to terrible torture." He paused and then added, "And then I killed you."

"Illya, you did neither of those things." Napoleon recalled his partner's order to bite down hard on the capsule, and he followed that order without hesitation. And though at the time he had said to Terry that 'Our friendship is being strained', he knew now, as in his heart he knew then, that Illya Kuryakin would do all that he could do to save him, even taking such extreme a measure as temporarily killing him. The simple fact was that Napoleon Solo was alive now, and alive to be tortured then only because Illya refused to allow Gurnius or Brown the chance to kill him straight away.

"I did…awful things…" Kuryakin said, interrupting Solo's private musings about events that had occurred less than two full days before. They certainly felt like memories that might dwell in their minds for some time to come.

"You did what you had to so that you kept your cover and saved our lives and those of the President and Congress and…"

"But…"

"Illya, I trust you. You are the best agent I know, excluding yours truly, of course." Napoleon tried his dazzling smile on his partner, though he knew the tenor of the conversation and the charcoal gray circles under his eyes betrayed the normally highly consistent and effective results he'd grown accustomed to. Trust was utmost in their relationship. Trust mixed with immeasurable mutual admiration for their skill and their commitment to the hard and dangerous work. And added to the trust and admiration, to make their friendship whole and immune to something as pedestrian as electro-shock, was a whole lot of love. Never admitted to, certainly never spoken of, and almost never demonstrated in any physical sense, save the occasional extra-long hold on an assist up from a raging river or when one of them suffered an injury and could not get up on his own. An unspoken love, not noticeable in any way to those outside their tight circle of two. A circle mighty in its minuteness, as was necessary in their line of work. But known to them, and that was indeed all that mattered.

"Of course," Illya replied, the edge of his mouth twitching upward, the first hint of a smile that Napoleon had seen since leaving headquarters.

"Here," Solo said, offering his hand to his friend. "Help me up. Tuck me in."

Kuryakin actually laughed at that. "So you admit to needing help; that you are still a little shaky?"

_Never_, Solo thought to himself. But in reality, Napoleon knew that his partner needed to help, that Illya yearned to comfort his friend after what he'd subjected him to on this mission. And though Solo was still shaky, and wouldn't admit it to anyone else, he knew what his next move had to be. As his partner helped him up, Napoleon wobbled, no acting required there, and grabbed on to his friend. He attempted to hide the fumble by giving Illya a hug. Solo held Kuryakin tight and said into his ear, "Thank you for not letting me stay dead."

After a brief, uncomfortable hesitation, Illya embraced his partner tightly and replied, "My pleasure," followed by an equally hesitant, "I don't know what I'd've done if…"

"Stop," Solo instructed. "I always know you'll come through. Trust, tovarich."

The End.


End file.
